


father lift me high

by blueparacosm (orphan_account)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Babies, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Gay, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Language, Light Angst, M/M, Murphy is a Little Shit, Nerd Bellamy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, self care? never heard of it, suffering murphy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9239510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/blueparacosm
Summary: “Please don’t tell me you pulled that just to spite me,” Bellamy begs after the two are out of earshot from the council members. Murphy shrugs, pocketing his hands as they make their way outside. “I’ve always wanted a pet.”Bellamy swears under his breath, and the baby in his arms lets out a sudden unprompted shriek as it wakes. He feels like doing the same.“So when do I move in?”Bellamy gags.--Or... the one where a very unprepared Bellamy and Murphy stumble upon an orphaned baby and become dads at odds. What could go wrong? (Answer: Everything.)





	1. saudade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myself because i deserve it](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=myself+because+i+deserve+it).



> hi! this work was orphaned because i don't like to have unfinished works in my library and because i wrote a new fic with the same premise after getting stuck on this one, so it just got messy. if you're looking for my account it's blueparacosm, where i have a substantial number of other murphamy fics and a COMPLETED (hallelujah) 50k+ murphamy coparent fic titled "build a life in this house", which i would love for you to read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344992/chapters/25389249
> 
> thanks so much, and if you read this fic, i hope you enjoy it! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy finds a missing piece. Murphy wants to share.

“Hey, walk a little louder Sasquatch.”

_Crack._

“Now you’re just being a dick,” Bellamy huffs as Murphy audibly shifts all of his weight down with each footfall, crushing the earth beneath his boots in blatant disregard for the task at hand.

The hunting team of six had split off in pairs as game had proved to be sparse, so they could cover more ground. Now, Bellamy wasn’t particularly fond of the young brunet-- considering their... history-- but he was a good shot and obeyed orders, usually, so the older man chose to tear away from the group with him at his side. Did he currently stand by that decision? No. Did it seem like a good idea at the time, though? Also no.

Maybe he chose him to save someone else from that nightmare. Because they were bad together, but Murphy was even worse with someone else.

The boy’s face is relaxed, wispy brown hair fluttering by his ears as the breeze gentles past the two of them. Bellamy flexes his fingers as they walk, uncomfortable. Murphy doesn’t stare at him anymore, doesn’t walk so unnervingly close, doesn’t seem to care whether or not Bellamy acknowledges him. It’s a good change, he’s tolerable, but it’s... _different._

_Crack._

“Murphy!”

“Keep it down, Bellamy. You’ll scare off the prey,” he quips, easy and slow, confident. The aforementioned clenches his fists, his teeth grit and mean. Focuses on the landscape.

Sky blue and clouds billowing and cottony, trees green and tall, some drooping, some proud. Grass sparkling with dew, looking as if it could melt under their feet, and more trees.

And more trees.

And... more trees.

And-

“The hell is that?”

A distant whine, the ghostly cry of a child. “It’s...”

Bellamy pauses, looks to his traveling companion. Murphy’s face is twisted up and glistening with sweat from the long walk in the sun like a wrung-out dishtowel as he leans toward the sound. His curiosity flows through the ground and seeps up into Bellamy, and wraps around his compassion for the young, energizing it, swatting away any fears or doubts about pressing on. “Let’s move.”

 _“Towards_ the screaming?”

Bellamy lifts a leg and then another, until his heels are digging into the ground and Murphy’s left bounding after him, parted mouth letting heavy breaths fly as his feet pound into splashing mud and-- that boy was never the fittest.

They tumble into the clearing on jellied legs, and the echoes falter from shrieks to whimpers as Murphy clambers unceremoniously into the blood-splattered hut housing the siren. “Oh, shit.”

Bellamy covers his mouth as the stench reaches him, creeping into his nose as he pushes past a paling Murphy and lifts the crying child from the dirt. Murphy toes the mother’s body with tears stinging his eyes. “This is fucked up.”

At the sound of Murphy’s unfamiliar voice, the temporarily soothed baby rips into screams again, and Bellamy groans, hoisting his gun back over his shoulder as he bounces the child in his arms. He scans their surroundings with darting, wet eyes.

A looted hut, a decapitated woman- no, mother- in the sloshing mud, and a blood-decorated child left on it’s back by her side, writhing under the weight of it’s own cries.

“What do we do with it?”

Bellamy looks up, lips parted in disbelief.

“We take it back to camp, what do you mean _‘what do we do with it?’”_ the eldest mocks, voice torn and rasping at the end in an attempt to mimic Murphy’s scratched vocals. “It’s a _baby._ ”

“Why’s it so damn loud?” Murphy questions half-heartedly, easing forward with curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Bellamy doesn’t miss that look, and unfurls the squealing child from his arms slightly, just enough to allow Murphy to see it.

“It’s a baby, asshole.”

Murphy’s close enough now that Bellamy can see the way his fingers twitch towards the baby, so he eases the child closer, taking a small step into Murphy’s space so that his chin hovers near the top of the smaller boy’s head. And Murphy, in a strange and foreign moment of gentleness, raises a hand to the top of the infant’s head, stroking a thumb over the wispy hairs atop it. Bellamy’s eyes flicker to his softened face as Murphy examines the child, and perhaps it was the two of them in the foggy clearing, rain pattering down amongst the leaves, or perhaps it was the warmth of the now-settled lump of cloth in his arms, or perhaps it was just that childlike shine to Murphy’s eyes, but he feels his heart threaten to burst for a moment. And he doesn’t hate it.

But he backs away on clumsy feet anyway, sputtering. “We- we need to get going. It’s hungry.”

Murphy blanches for a millisecond, blinking emptily at the space where Bellamy and Child had just stood, his uncurled hand still hovering over nothingness. Then he twists, reaching into the light backpack over his shoulders to pull out a ration pack. Bellamy stares at him dumbly as he takes out a handful of edible nuts and steps towards the two of them.

“Here,” he mumbles, palm of almonds outstretched to Bellamy.

“It’s a baby.”

“You just said it was hungry.”

Bellamy slaps Murphy’s hand from below, and the little almonds spring into the air and then quietly splosh into a puddle beneath them. Murphy blinks. “My nuts.”

“Babies don’t eat almonds.”

“There was a chestnut in there, you wasteful fuck.”

“We have to take it back to camp. It needs milk, Murphy.”

“Milk? But there aren’t any cows in Arkadia.”

Bellamy looks down for a moment, amusement bubbling up in his chest that suddenly doesn’t feel too small for his body anymore. The familiar feeling of a child in his arms, and another by his side. And for a moment, in some twisted way, it feels like he has his sister back.

“Don’t worry about it, Murphy,” he spares, and turns on his heel to head back to Arkadia, leaving the younger boy scrambling after him with six less almonds, one less chestnut, and many, many questions.

 

***

 

“What are you gonna do now?” Murphy inquires, drifting closer to Bellamy as the intimidating doors to the council meeting room taunt and tower over him. The infant cradled in his arms squirms, and Bellamy readjusts his grip and furrows his eyebrows, staring forward.

“I’ll tell them what we found, I guess,” he answers after a thoughtful pause, and Murphy hesitates in parting ways as the other man steps confidently forward and curls a hand around the door handle, but ultimately decides to slip off and vanish down the empty hall to his right.

Bellamy feels a small twinge of unexpected disappointment in his chest as he watches the boy scurry off, and can’t quite decipher why. Did he expect the kid to stick around, agree to help him care for some Grounder child that they found in the dirt? _‘Life isn’t a game of house, Bellamy'_ he scolds himself, swinging the meeting room door open and slipping in. Like he’d want Murphy of all people to be his baby daddy, he thinks, before shaking that particular thought violently from his head.

As the heavy door creaks closed and finally slams behind him, every gray-haired head in the room turns to look over him and the child apprehensively. Abby jumps from her seat to rush over and examine the bloodied baby. “Found it a little bit outside of the hunting grounds-” Marcus raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah. The truce is fragile, stay inside the bounds, got it. Me and Murphy split from the group to cover more ground and we were having some trouble finding anything so- anyways, you get it. We came up on a hut that had been ransacked, mother dead and kid on the ground. Figured I shouldn’t leave it there to die.”

“So you brought it back to camp to make it a responsibility for someone else?” a particularly sullen looking councilman rumbles, and Bellamy’s face distorts in frustration. Prick.

“Actually, I was thinking _I_   would care for it.”

Abby’s brows disappear into her hairline, a small grin threatening to break across her face. “He raised his sister, didn’t you Bellamy?”

The man nods, bringing the infant a little closer to his heart, hopeful. The council members exchange glances and informal shrugs before Marcus raises his hands into the air. “He’s capable. I don’t see why not. All in favor of giving Guardsman Blake custody over our newest Arkadian resident say-”

“Wait!”

Fear coils its tendrils around Bellamy’s lungs for a moment as a single voice of protest hits him from behind. He needs this baby. He needs it badly.

But when he looks over his shoulder, he’s floored. Murphy stands- no, _melts_ \- there, jacket hanging off his shoulders, hair in disarray, cheeks tomato red. He hunches over, hands on his knees and breath pounding out of his mouth and nose.

“I want to share the baby thing,” he gasps. “I helped him find it!”

Bellamy’s face splits into a look of panic and anger, and Murphy looks up to meet his narrowed eyes, breathless and glowing with excitement at a potential adventure. “The dramatic entrance may have been overkill,” Bellamy reviews with minor annoyance, and Murphy huffs out a breathy laugh.

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

The same asshole of a councilman speaks up again. “All in favor of giving Guardsman Blake and--”

“Ah-” he scratches his neck uncharacteristically shyly, glancing at the floor. “John Murphy, Council-sir.”

Bellamy inhales a nearly-escaped snort at Murphy’s laughable attempt at formality. The _‘council-sir’_ lifts an eyebrow, perhaps in amusement. “-John Murphy joint custody over the orphaned child, say aye.”

A series of underwhelmed “Aye”s fill the room, suggesting a rather unanimous lack of concern over the matter, and Bellamy nods in a hurried gesture of thanks and takes off after Murphy, who saunters contentedly out of the room.

“Please don’t tell me you pulled that just to spite me,” Bellamy begs after the two are out of earshot from the council members. Murphy shrugs, pocketing his hands as they make their way outside.

“I’ve always wanted a pet.”

The taller man swears under his breath, and the baby in his arms lets out a sudden unprompted shriek as it wakes. He feels like doing the same.

“So when do I move in?”

Bellamy gags.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys ill tell you right now that i hate this chapter it was rushed and poorly written and i have no idea where the rest of the fic is going but now that the plot is established and i can focus on the characters it has a chance of getting better. my chapter fics always suck terribly but i kind of have a bit of hope for this one? or it will fail miserably who knows we'll see
> 
> thanks for reading and any pitying kudos i may receive <3
> 
> p.s. thanks for letting my dumbass know when i make grammar mistakes i need it


	2. metanoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy has a change of heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murphy-centric chapter. Woo?
> 
> This one was pretty difficult to write for some reason and I really hope it doesn't show, lmao. Anyway enjoy, I love you for clicking on this at all I am flattered.
> 
> (Emori and Raven have a Thing by the way because I said so.)

 

  The cold, scuffed surface of the workshop table is smooth under his fingertips as he scours the metal for dents, scrapes and notches, counting them and keeping himself grounded as his head spins in light of recent events. A tan, distorted hand flashes across his eyes just in time to keep him from drowning in his thoughts. “John, what’s with you? You’re acting weird,” the tattooed brunette observes, before gently revising “Weirder than normal, at least.”

The corners of his lips curve up a little bit at that, and Emori visibly relaxes slightly at the reassuring gesture. “Sorry, ‘Mori. It’s been an... _interesting_ day.”

She spins around on her stool and returns to tinkering with some deconstructed gadgets, nimble fingers of her good hand at work as her concern for Murphy’s well-being deescalates. “What? Did something go wrong on the hunting trip?” she inquires, glancing up momentarily to search his eyes for unspoken answers or hesitation, like she does. “Has Bellamy been looking at you strangely again?” she adds for comic relief, and Murphy straightens, startled.

 _“Keep your voice down!”_ he hisses, blushing cheeks pulled high in an easy smile.

Emori shrugs, tongue darting past her lips as she concentrates on the bundle of wires in her grasp. “You really should do something about that sexual tension before someone is electrocuted” she muses, before a rough hand flies out and clamps over her mouth.

 _“Stop!”_ he cries, face beet red as he searches the workshop in a panic.

Emori pries his hand away with a uncharacteristically girlish giggle. “Don’t worry, Raven is in the back room.”

“Actually I heard everything. Can’t say I don’t agree, unfortunately.”

Murphy lets out a hideous whine, burying his face in his hands. “He’s way too good for you. I don’t get it,” the wrench-wielding mechanic supplies, peeking into Emori’s section of the shop, and the younger boy grunts unhappily, face returning to it’s usual pallor almost immediately.

“Then why did he sleep with _you?”_ he tests, and Emori’s head flies up, eyes widening in what can only be described as absolute horror. Raven’s wrench clatters to the floor.

“How did you know about that?”

Murphy snatches up a grease rag from an adjacent table and works on the lines of dirt in his palms as he fights a pleased grin. “I didn’t, but now I do.”

An animal-like groan rips from Raven’s throat as she retreats, face darkened by humiliation and anger. “E, you best keep that little prick away from me. I’ll choke the living daylights out of him if he’s still in this workshop by the time I leave for lunch.”

“Understood,” Emori answers over her shoulder, and Murphy allows himself a small chuckle before returning to sulking, an elbow propped up on the table, a cheek melting in his palm. “John, you triumphed over Raven in- what do you call it- banter? And you are _still_ feeling sorry for yourself? What’s wrong with you?”

“I had a baby with Bellamy.”

The back room door slams as Emori looks up at him, brows knitted in confusion. Raven drops a handful of worn tools on a table with a powerful clatter as she makes a dejected-looking beeline for the door. “I have truly heard everything. I’m off to die.”

Emori waves as the workshop door flies open and slams against the wall, rattling the entire building. “Have a nice lunch!” she offers sweetly, and a brown ponytail swishes in the blinding sunlight of early noon as Raven shakes her head in disbelief. The smaller girl then gingerly retires her wire bundle to the pile of other assorted broken tech and turns to Murphy, legs crossed and hands folded patiently, kindly.

“Well, go on,” she encourages.

Murphy lets out a rough wail of discontent at the prospect of trying to explain his actions. Emori only blinks those golden-brown orbs at him, waiting. Knowing.

“I- I wanted- I thought-” he heaves in a dust-filled breath and casts his eyes down shamefully. “I thought it would be fun.”

Emori tilts her head thoughtfully. “Is it not?”

Murphy shrugs, rubbing a calloused palm over his upper arm until the burning of his skin provides a little distraction from his nerves. “I don’t know, I haven’t really spent any time with it, or Bellamy. I just- he seems so serious about this. I didn’t realize...” he inhales shakily. “It’s scary, ‘Mori. I just kind of wanted to screw with Bellamy-- ‘cause, you know, I hate him-- and now I’ve made this- this _promise_ that I don’t think I can keep.”

The silence flows painfully between Murphy and his audience for a moment, before she does the unthinkable.

She laughs.

She fucking _laughs._

“What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

“You-” she gasps. “You took on the responsibility of fatherhood... for a _practical joke_.” His face contorts horribly in a blend of humiliation and self-hatred as the reality of his situation sinks in. “You are unbelievable, John Murphy. I offer you no sympathy,” she concludes, spinning around on her stool with a reddened face and a disfigured hand clutching her side.

He parts his lips, perhaps to defend himself or lash out, but she’s right. He’s an idiot.

“So what do I do?”

She snorts, tilting her head at him, less thoughtfully but more patronizingly. “Go break up with your nemesis, I suppose.”

The ridiculousness of the sentence is not lost him as he rises and makes reluctantly for the door, muted giggles taunting him from behind. He deserves this.

  
***

  
Murphy raps on the metal door with little grace, mouthing his speech one last time for good measure.

He only hopes he survives this encounter.

The compartment door creaks cautiously open to that familiar freckled face, which is absolutely glowing, inexplicably. Murphy twists his fingers, nerves settling slightly at the sight of him being in such a weirdly good mood.

“Oh, hey. Come in,” the older man invites, turning his back on his guest and crossing the room to settle on his cot, returning to whatever task he had previously been occupied with. Murphy follows, gesturing to the door awkwardly, and Bellamy nods, signing for him to close it behind him- which he does.

The pale boy shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot by the entrance, observing silently as Bellamy goes to work on a piece of blue fabric with a needle and string. “You can sit,” he offers, glancing up at the chair by his desk- littered with classic novels and maps. Murphy clears the lump in his throat roughly, rasps out a “Oh- ah- thanks,” before settling against the straight-backed hardwood.

He steels himself. “So, I came to let you know that I-”

“Hey, could you hand me that-” Bellamy cuts him off, pointing at a spool on the desk next to Murphy. He curls a now-quivering hand around the string and tosses it with debatable aim into Bellamy’s hands, who doesn’t seem to have heard the beginning of his guest’s overly-rehearsed speech anyhow.

Murphy, all of his fleeting pride that he had previously mustered up now AWOL following the disruption, fiddles with a zipper on his pants pocket while trying not to stare as Bellamy’s tongue darts from between his lips, his hands fast at work with whatever sewing project he’s taken on now.

Murphy remembers the earliest of the days on the ground, during which Bellamy would keep his idle hands busy with patching his own clothes, repairing torn rags or blankets, or stealthily repairing the holes in Murphy’s jacket when he slept. The younger boy found his seamstress-like skills rather endearing, but never brought it up, seeing as he liked to keep his nose unbroken as often as possible.

“What are you making?” he dares, and the raven-haired boy’s mouth stretches into a small smile. “Diaper.”

Murphy snorts. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

“Into what?” Bellamy stops working for a moment, smile faltering as he pauses to search the other boy’s face.

“This whole...” he waves his hands erratically, scrambling for the right words. “Parenting gig.”

 _“Gig?_ We adopted the kid, Murphy. We’re literally her parents. Or at least I am, considering it was just a joke to-”

“Her?”

Bellamy’s sentence is left unfinished and hanging between them like a wet party banner, all of the fun sucked out of their interaction as Murphy’s hands tighten against the fabric of his pants. “Yeah, her.”

Murphy blinks, face looking both blank and whirling with emotion. “Does she-” his eyes flicker to the baby, swaddled up perfectly and resting at the end of Bellamy’s cot, small as a paperweight. “Does she have a name?”

Bellamy’s eyes soften, all and any anger fleeing from him as he realizes what’s happening.

Murphy has a heart.

“I was waiting to name her with you.”

His face splits into a blinding smile. “That’s cheesy as fuck. _You’re cheesy as fuck!”_

Bellamy’s face is taken over by Murphy’s radiance, pulling his attempt at a frown into a wide grin as his face darkens with blush. He really is into this whole parenting gig. “Just help me name the baby, you dick. It’s called having manners, not that you would know.”

The smaller brunet gapes at him, shocked. “You’re serious? Me?”

“Yeah, Murphy. You’re technically the other parent, so... it’s only fair.”

He beams. “Can I-” he starts, hovering over his chair with a foot in the direction of the cot, testing the waters. Bellamy nods, and he nearly trips over himself trying to cross the room to them.

The boy crouches by the end of the cot, staring fiercely into the face of the infant as Bellamy returns his focus to the fabric in his clutch. “Alex.”

“What?”

“I want her name to be Alex.”

Bellamy blinks. “That’s a boy’s name.”

“No?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, that can be her middle name.”

“No?”

“Why not?”

Murphy pouts, jutting out his bottom lip in frustration. Bellamy averts his eyes to the diaper-in-the-making. “What do you want to be her first name then, fuckwad, because you clearly already have something in mind and are just pretending to take my idea seriously.”

The other man stops sewing, and meets Murphy’s eyes. His blue, blue, _blue_ eyes, the only color he saw or felt or knew after she was gone.

“Aurora.”

“That’s ugly.”

“Thank you,” he bites back, and Murphy grins, all teeth and honesty. “Okay.”

The taller man lifts a questioning brow, hands stilling. “Really?” and Murphy nods, absolutely glowing.

“Wow, okay. That was- that was easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Hey, I can be easy," Murphy confirms distractedly, eyes following the movement of Bellamy's hands as he resumes his work, mind apparently elsewhere.

“Good to know.”

Murphy blanches as he realizes what he’s said, and pales further as the other man’s words register.

“I gotta get going,” he says, all in one panicked breath as he rises from his spot on the floor and backs out into the hall, and Bellamy catches him just before his blush-tormented face leaves sight, a laugh on his lips.

“Murphy, wait-”

He peeks his head back into the compartment uncharacteristically shyly, with a “Huh?”

“What did you need to let me know earlier?”

The brunet casts his gaze to the floor, expression graced by the most microscopic of smiles. “I forget."

And the door shuts behind him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk i thought it was sort of cute
> 
> im HAVING SO MUCH TROUBLE WRITING GUYS IM SORRY I THOUGHT THIS WOULD TURN OUT BETTER BUT I DONT WANT TO GIVE UP QUITE YET? DOES ANYONE EVEN REALLY WANT THIS TO CONTINUE LIKE PLEASE JUST LET ME KNOW IF IM WASTING TIME ON THIS FIC IT WONT HURT MY FEELINGS
> 
> anyways. things are about to start getting weird now that murphy's actually on board. next chapter will be mostly humor and chaos but then we'll start getting into the angst and u know how much i love angst so i'm. pumped. yonk.
> 
> also tell me what i did right and what i could have done better with murphy's characterization in this chapter because i feel like it was a bit off


	3. coalesce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two become one, if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter! very fluffy! thanks for showing any interest at all please enjoy <3 ily

 

“I can’t! I can’t do it!”

The brunet backs himself against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest like a straightjacket as his feet push at the covers and drive him even further backwards, shoulder-blades denting metal, if possible.

“You have to learn how. Put your arms out, Murphy,” Bellamy coaxes, coming closer, and Murphy growls, face contorted by fear and frustration. The older brunet sighs, and the other boy straightens up at the prospect of relief suggested by Bellamy’s first sign of possible resignation.

Mistake.

A tan arm flies forward before he can register the movement, and suddenly his pale wrist is circled by his attacker’s firm grip. “No, no- wait!” Murphy pleads, as a heavy knee finds the top of his thigh and traps him against the cot and the wall. Bellamy’s face remains stoic as he juts the kryptonite forward into the boy’s heaving chest.

“I’m letting go now,” he says, and Murphy’s eyes are wild. “I don’t- I don’t know what to-” blue irises flash down with concern and up again with desperation as he fumbles with the lump of crying, writhing cloth.

“You do. I’ve shown you a hundred times. Two hands, support the neck. You can do this.”

“I can’t!” the teen practically wails over the gradually increasing volume of the infant’s own fearful shrieks, and Bellamy crosses his arms, admiring his handiwork as the boy’s cries of “I can’t!” become fading mutterings as he realizes that, in fact, he can.

“I’m- I’m doing it?” he questions himself, and Bellamy finds a distant place in his desk chair as he watches the scene.

“I told you it wasn’t a big deal,” he confirms, nonchalant, confident. Aurora’s lamentations begin to slowly die out as Murphy’s finds a bit of his own comfort, and pulls her closer to his narrow chest, hunched over to look at her chubby-cheeked, wet-eyed face.

Any carelessness in Bellamy, any newly found calm in his whirlwind of a heart, vanishes at the sight as it unfolds before him as he crosses his legs under the baby and begins to rock her, and it looks so easy, so natural for him. A peaceful smile manifests upon Murphy’s peach-pink lips (not that Bellamy’s noticed) as she wriggles a bit to nestle closer, and he spares a hand to carefully brush back a few wispy black hairs from the fuzzy little head buried in the crook of his arm.

He’s seen this before. The gentle side of Murphy. Those milky pale hands, trembling under the pressure of finding the right weight to wipe the bloodied lips of a illness-stricken teen on the floor of the Dropship, his thumbs smoothing down the red-stained locks of gold on Clarke’s battered temple. It makes him fragile. It makes him untouchable. It makes him real.

And it scares the hell out of Bellamy.

“This isn’t so bad...” he muses after what feels like a little bit of eternity, swaying slightly as his rocking gets a small dip to it, mirroring that of tiny ocean waves. The older man can’t help but grin.

“Are you ready to try feeding her?”

The ocean stills. “No.”

“Murphy, come on. You’re doing great, you got past the hard part. This is nothing,” he practically begs, and Murphy shakes his head profusely, startling Aurora’s eyes back open.

“I don’t want to,” he protests, avoiding eye contact by glaring holes into the wall behind Bellamy.

Bellamy’s face droops. He can’t be serious. “Are you scared? Of a baby?” he taunts, exasperated. Murphy’s face goes pink with the accusation, but his match is met with silence.

The raven-haired man drags a hand over his face and holds it there, muffling his next words. “You have killed a man, strung me up, survived torture, walked a field of land mines, escaped prison twice, and you’re scared of a human raisin?” Bellamy badgers, waving a hand theatrically at the infant cradled in his now-visibly shivering arms.

His face is nearly purple at this point, and he leans forward to spit out, “I don’t want to hurt her! Okay? I’m scared of her!” he shouts, not a hint of humor in his usually comically mean-spirited voice, no trace of his usual cheeky smile to be found in his face. “You happy?” he concludes in a near-whisper, eyes cast down.

Bellamy nearly laughs at the irony of it all.

A moment of stillness passes, Aurora squirming uncomfortably in the younger boy’s slipping grasp as his own words sink in. It appears to Bellamy, who begins to make his way to the windowsill, that he’s reached an epiphany about himself, about the baby, about his new situation, and he can sympathize.

He can sympathize with the need to not break everything he touches, he can sympathize with the fear of ruining anything good left in life, he can sympathize with the need to uncover parts of himself that are too weak to survive on this earth. He can.

So he snags the bottle of milk from the sill and eases down next to an anxious Murphy, who nudges Bellamy slightly opposite of him to get some space, uncomfortable. Bellamy ignores the offending elbow and reaches an arm around Murphy’s back, one freckled hand encasing his elbow to manipulate the bend of his arm to prop Aurora’s head up to a more comfortable height for both of them. He proceeds to slide a hand down to Murphy’s, shifting his smaller one to act as a chair for the infant so the length of her is supported by Murphy’s forearm, freeing his left hand.

The boy looks up questioningly at Bellamy, breath warm and quick on the side of his face. Bellamy swallows the lump forming in his throat and avoids his eyes, pressing the bottle into his left hand and guiding him by the elbow to place the nipple of it to the baby’s mouth, and Murphy’s hand shakes enough to ‘boop’ the end of it against Aurora’s nose. “Ah-” he grunts, startled and unable to keep it hovering near her lips as an offering, so Bellamy, perhaps unnecessarily, places a hand over the boy’s to steady him, palm draped over his knuckles securely, and the baby accepts, beginning to drink eagerly.

Murphy’s face practically lights up, and he turns excitedly to Bellamy like a child whose just finished a puzzle, or as if he’s won something. The other man attempts to match his look of surprised contentment, giving him a small, encouraging smile, before it dawns upon him that he’s still wrapped around Murphy like a jacket, whose shoulder rests against his chest and whose side may as well be glued to his, their legs pressed together much too close. “Ah- um-” the man clears his throat, peeling away and feeling immediately colder, stiffer. Murphy straightens up comparably, directing his gaze back to the infant with a series of startled blinks, face twisted up in confusion as he shifts uncomfortably.

“See? Easy,” Bellamy offers, half-assedly gesturing towards him and the drainage pipe swaddled in his arms. Murphy shrugs, light-switch in the off position.

After a moment of tension-filled silence and Bellamy standing awkwardly in the center of his own compartment, he blurts out “I’ll- um- you probably have things to do... today, so- I’ll take over from here, if you want-”

“-Oh, yeah. Sure. Thanks,” Murphy rushes out, unfolding his legs and rising shakily to shove the baby somewhat roughly into Bellamy’s chest, sending him wobbling backwards before he catches himself.

“I’ll just- I’ll see you around,” he mumbles, pinching his coat from the chair where he had tossed it upon entry, and Bellamy nods, settling against the wall, the heat from him still radiating in the space where Murphy had sat like a backwards ghost of him.

“Take the books.”

“Do what?”

Bellamy gestures with a jerk of his chin to a small stack of parenting books on his desk, all in gentle, pastel covers with only slightly worn pages.

“The hell are these?”

“They’re for you. You know, to read.”

Murphy picks one up and examines it for a moment too long, concentrating a bit too hard, before he snorts. “Oh, fuck you, Blake,” he grumbles, before scooping up the stack and marching off into the hall, much more Murphy than whatever soft, cloudy version of him had floated in minutes earlier. A stone in Bellamy’s stomach disintegrates as things feel a little more normal.

“Read them!” he calls after the silhouette stomping down the corridor.

“Maybe!” a disembodied voice echoes back.

Aurora rests a soft, chubby hand against the plastic of the bottle. Murphy’s footfall shakes every room on the hall.

Bellamy’s heart flutters.

Fuck.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes: the milk is from a cool lady who recently lost her baby in childbirth and just donates her breastmilk to them bc bellamy asked nicely and is a very charming lad. i dont know if anyone was wondering but i thought i would clarify that bellamy is in fact not producing breastmilk
> 
> this chapter didnt turn out at all how i planned so sorry for the misleading description in the previous chapter end notes. i was feeling very soft and chill so you lot got a very soft and chill chapter. aside from murphy's panicking and a bit of unnecessary angst bc i couldnt help myself.
> 
> how r we feeling what do u think (this is a cry for feedback)
> 
> love <3 bunches of it. thank u so much for reading/commenting/kudos/accidentally clicking on the fic


	4. goldfoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy is a natural. Bellamy is electrified.

 

  By the time he’s even within sight of his destination, the sound of tread-upon dirt has turned to the crunch of untouched, brittle cold grass under his boots. It’s eerily quiet on the outskirts of camp, and Bellamy internally curses Murphy for moving his tent so far from the bustling center of Arkadia as Aurora shivers on his hip, wriggling uncomfortably and looking near ready to let out an unholy scream of dissatisfaction.

Bellamy hikes the bag stuffed to near bursting with baby supplies higher up on his shoulder as the lopsided little orange tent reveals itself among the early morning fog, the only sign of being occupied a low-humming. Bellamy grins just barely to himself at the sound, pleased to hear that the boy is in a good mood for his first day with Aurora.

He had been given a grace period of sorts, something Abby had called a maternity leave, to get adjusted to life with a child and make arrangements for her care while he’d be at work. But now that Bellamy's week-long break had come to an end, he was forced to hand over the baby to his co-parent for the day, who conveniently worked the night shift in the medical wing.

And speak of the devil, Bellamy gingerly peels back the entrance flap to the tent and peers inside, only to find Murphy rocketing into a standing position from his bed fast enough to give even the observer whiplash. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he greets with a bow and a theatrical wave of his entire arm, looking rather worse for wear, dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray. Not to mention his ensemble of sweatpants, bare feet, no shirt but his unzipped jacket covering his back and arms. Bellamy’s eyes forcibly drift to the crosshatching of scars on his lean, pale chest, before wandering their way back up to his sunken face.

“Oh, sorry. This is my casual wear. I wasn’t expecting guests,” he mutters, a false tone of sweetness pouring off of his tongue, and Bellamy can’t help but make a show of rolling his eyes.

“You knew I was coming to drop off Aurora,” he argues, and Murphy scoffs unnecessarily, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat but providing no comeback of self-defense.

Bellamy blinks at him, arms tightening around a curious Aurora. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

His fears are further re-enforced when the young man takes a swig of something from the tin cup in his grasp, something Bellamy hadn’t noticed before. “What’s in the cup?” he asks, sternness undisguised in his voice.

“Uh-” Murphy’s eyes flicker down into the depths of the container. “Water.”

Bellamy’s brows furrow in frustration as he reaches out and quickly snatches the cup from the boy’s hands. “Oh- okay, now, wait-” he stammers, as Bellamy brings the tin to his lips and tests his honesty. The taste of it is strong, bitter and certainly not that of water.

“Moonshine? Really Murphy? It’s 06:00 and you know you were meant to be watching the baby,” he grumbles, and Murphy makes grabby hands for his cup back like a child.

“Not all of us get shitfaced after one shot, Blake. It was just a little to knock off the drowsiness, right Rory?” he coos, meeting eyes with the tot who, in turn, burrows closer into Bellamy’s side. The brunet pouts, backing off.

“That’s her saying your breath smells like shit and you look like an alcoholic,” Bellamy bites, and Murphy hisses back, air whistling angrily through his teeth.

“Just give me the fucking baby and leave, asshole.”

Bellamy looks at him, the way his eyes have averted to the ground, they way he stands a little shorter, tucks in his chin, the way he’s shrunk away Bellamy’s words. He feels his tight grip on the child releasing, giving in. He sighs deeply and throws back the rest of Murphy’s drink, because he’s gonna need it to hand over this child to its possible demise.

And he does.

Murphy perks up immediately, baby shoved into his chest, and he reminds Bellamy of a wilting little plant that has been watered. “Hello, hi, hey kiddo,” he coos, greeting her again and again in different voices, cradling the child in one arm and tickling her stomach with the other. The other man finds himself leaning against the pole at the tent’s entrance, fear and guilt melting away. Murphy’s a natural, he reminds himself. There’s nothing to be worried about.

The boy glances up for a moment, Aurora gurgling happily in his arms, and the smile squinting his eyes fades as he catches Bellamy staring. _“What?”_

The raven-haired man shakes his head quickly, breaking himself out of his reverie. “What? Nothing, I-” he looks frantically around the room, searching for something to use as an excuse for the thoughtfulness captured on his face. His eyes screech to a stop on the stack of books at Murphy’s bedside, a pencil resting on the cover of the first guide. “Did you read any of them?”

The boy blinks. “Who?”

Bellamy quirks a questioning brow. _“You,_ dumbass. Did you read any of the books I gave you?”

Murphy’s eyes drift emptily to the pile at his feet. “Um-” he blinks, looking lost, before glancing back up with rosy cheeks. “Yeah, I uh- read like, three of them,” he rasps, inexplicably searching Bellamy’s face. The other man gapes.

“Three? In two days? That’s- you’re a fast reader,” he exclaims, suspicion and surprise evident in a strange blend of mixed feelings on his freckled face.

Murphy trains his eyes on the furs acting as flooring for his tent, mumbles “Ah- don’t you need to get to work?” Bellamy can’t help but be taken aback by his lack of hesitation to try and get him to leave, but he guesses he understands. It’s not like they’re friends. And it’s not like Bellamy should care. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care.

“Oh, yeah. Okay,” he breathes, and shakes off the feeling of something crumbling, the feeling of some sort of lingering hope fading from thought. “Here’s some stuff,” he offers, extending the baby supplies bag to Murphy, who reaches out to take it without looking, and accidentally interlocks a finger with Bellamy. He attempts to tear his hand away, which results in the both of them letting go, and the bag hitting the floor, some its contents spilling out onto the ground. Murphy squats slightly, Aurora on his hip, to grab for it, while Bellamy himself bends over to shovel the items back inside. It ends in a brushing of the younger brunet’s free hand against Bellamy’s ear before he reels back, jaw clenched. The contact had sent a noticeable shudder down the taller of the two’s spine, and Murphy’s fingers twitch with the ghost of a spark.

Bellamy clears his throat and settles for dropping the bag onto Murphy’s bed, and with his back turned, he hears Murphy mutter “Jesus,” something akin to anger clear in his tone, and Bellamy finds himself bristling with frustration and slight offense. Whatever.

“Alright, I’m off.” Bellamy’s unable to resist ruffling the dark fuzz on Aurora’s tiny little head. “Be good,” he insists, knowing full well he’s talking into the void. Murphy looks up at him then, a hint of fear and self-doubt swirling in those cerulean blues, and Bellamy pushes his discomfort aside to clap a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You’re a natural, remember?” A phantom of a smile flits across Murphy’s face at that, and flickers out just as quick as it came. But Bellamy feels him loosen up at the words, sees his chin turn up a little, so he nods, turns on his heel, and pushes back the tent flap to step out into the bitter March air again.

As he leaves them behind, he hears a low murmur of “Fuck,” follow him out on an icy breeze. A smile takes over his face, albeit forming completely against his wishes.

 

 

***

 

Murphy sorts through the Baby Survival Bag with trembling hands, wishing his shittiest house-guest ever hadn’t just downed the rest of his drink. He finds himself wondering when Bellamy had the time to fashion a bag full of baby toys and hand-sewn diapers, a startled laugh bubbling up in his stomach. That guy is really into this whole parenting gig.

To his right, Aurora picks with clumsy, pudgy fingers at the fur underneath her, head bobbing under it’s own weight. Murphy observes carefully for a moment, before deciding to leave her to it so he can continue rummaging through an almost humorous amount of baby garbage. “You eat and sleep, you don’t need all this shit, do ya Rory?” She gurgles. Murphy snorts. “Yeah, me and you, we’re minimalists. Your other dad doesn’t get it.”

He shoves the bag aside, satisfied with flopping down next to the infant on the floor and sprawling out, eyes fluttering closed with exhaustion courtesy of the night shift.

 

***

 

He awakes to an earth-shattering shriek.

“Wha-”

The sound rips his eyes open, and he can’t recall ever falling asleep. He sits straight up, panicked, looking undoubtedly like Frankenstein. Aurora writhes on the floor, face cherry red and turned sideways and as she gasps for air between screams. “Woah, woah!” he exclaims, picking her up by her armpits and scanning her for wounds as she twists in the air, arms flapping furiously, tiny hands balled into tight fists. “What the fuck is your problem?!” he cries over her own lamentations. She does not stop to answer him, shockingly.

He resorts to rocking her quickly, holding her like Bellamy taught him, the ghost of his arms around him, the phantom warmth of his hands atop his own, guiding him. “Hey, hey, it’s fine, you’re fine,” he shushes, but her wails only grow in volume and urgency, much to his distaste. He slides a hand to her rear so he can hold her in one arm, freeing up his other hand to try and feed her as he scrabbles around in the bag for a bottle-- before an unfamiliar and alarming warmth surrounds his hand. “What the...”

Murphy lifts her to eye level and rotates her around, noticing that something looks wrong about her bottom. It’s _melting._ “Why is your...?” He pulls her little blue diaper away from her waist, planning to survey the damage, when something tumbles out of it and results in an awful ‘squish’ onto the floor. His face scrunches up in confusion, just before the stench hits him, just before the realization. Like a ten-ton weight.

“You just shat on my floor.”

He’s confused for a moment, and then upset, and finally, he decides to stand up and carry her outside. He peels away the soiled diaper and drops it into the grass with an unsatisfying ‘splat’, and stifles the laughing fit that stirs around his stomach at his situation, as Aurora’s screams of despair rip through the air and the stench of her shit surrounds them like a deadly gas. Murphy holds her bare, excretion-covered body far away from him as he thinks about what to do next, before deciding on gently placing her in the grass like a tiny seed.

He peeks back into the tent to shift through Bellamy’s bag, blocking out her eardrum-rattling cries as he comes across a startling amount of necessary items, and silently thanks the other man, apologizing for laughing at his preparedness. He piles the items in his arms, a tin bottle of water, a clean rag, and an itty-bitty red bundle of cloth- another handmade diaper- and then shuffles back outside, frightened smile on his face morphing into a grimace as the task at hand becomes clear.

He must wipe the ass of another human.

And he must wipe it thoroughly.

Tears spill over onto his cheeks as a disbelieving laugh rips from his throat. Of all of the things he has done on Earth, this is, by far, the worst.

 

***

 

“How’d it go?”

Murphy meets eyes with Aurora, who gnaws on a little wooden car. He swears she smiles, the little demon.

 _“Great,”_ he responds eagerly, fake chipper.

Bellamy’s narrowed eyes drift from Murphy’s face to the rug. “So why is there a shit stain under your foot?”

Murphy scoots forward on his ass to cover it entirely. “That’s mine.”

The man stares at him blankly, blinking once, twice, a third time. He sighs.

“Thanks, Murphy,” he resolves, softening.

“Just doing my fatherly duties.”

Bellamy lets out a small snort, meeting his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest. He stands there for a silent moment too long, looking around Murphy’s living space with new eyes. He sees the colorful patches on torn canvas, the little pot plant next to his shoes, the stains and spills decorating the hide rug, the cracked mirror resting against a pile of battered classic novels, the chewed up pencil teetering on the edge of a pile of parenting books. It’s nothing like his grey, metal-encased compartment in the fallen station. Murphy has his own world in this tent, a safe little microcosm on the edge of the wide, cold-hearted universe. And he feels warmer just standing in it.

“Do you mind if I just hang around here for a while?” he blurts out, and immediately regrets it. He sounds pathetic, creepy. Bellamy berates himself a thousand times before even considering the possibility of Murphy’s rejection.

The boy looks at him, startled, brows knitted. “Why?”

It wasn’t an immediate no. Bellamy scrambles. “Uh- I don’t know. Rory seems to like your floor a bit more than my cot,” he reasons, gesturing towards the baby currently crawling back and forth to her toys to Murphy’s outstretched legs, seemingly in a race with some unseen force.

Murphy looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, before a cheeky, familiar little smirk crosses his face.”Yeah, Blake. Sure.”

A similar devilish look melts over Bellamy’s own features, simply because Murphy’s is contagious. He isn’t sure what it means, or what his face is implying for him, but he sure as hell wish it would stop. He disguises it with a generous eye-roll, lowering himself onto the end of Murphy’s floor-bound mattress, leaving little Aurora as the only boundary between them.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, the both of them content on watching Aurora play while giving each other flickering glances over the top of her head. Murphy lies on his side, stretched out and head propped up on his hand, and Bellamy has no control over his eyes, which won’t stop drifting to his partially-exposed chest, or the hard line of his jaw, or his deep blue eyes, which are trained on him as well. And suddenly, it feels too intimate for two people who are supposed to hate each other, so Bellamy snaps whatever electrified line that’s kept him tied to the other boy’s gaze all night, shatters the peaceful quiet.

“What’s this for?” he asks, too abruptly and too loudly, and Murphy’s relaxed, cocky features that he once knew so well fall away, and he reverts back to the panicked, rabbit-y look he’s had on his face everyday lately.

“What?” he mumbles, eyes glued to the ground once more, and Bellamy almost feels a little colder without being the subject of his gaze. He scolds himself again for thinking that way.

The older man plucks the pencil from the stack of books, examines it, and then goes to open the guide on top. Murphy lets out a small, strangled noise as he sits up and dives forward on his knees, attempting to snatch the book from Bellamy’s curious hands. Bellamy’s eyebrows jump to his hairline in surprise as he juts out a strong arm and shoves Murphy and his frantically clawing hands away, who whines loudly. Bellamy can’t help but genuinely laugh at the pathetic sound. “What’s the big deal?” he states more than asks, flipping from the table of contents to the first page, when Murphy starts to beg.

“Don’t- _please_ \- it’s nothing-”

Bellamy scans the first page, Murphy’s jacket trapped in his fist as he holds him away at arm’s length, and sees that he has underlined several words, and circled multiple letters. The page is covered in mark-ups and short notes such as “new” as well as pictures and question marks, until the very bottom of it, where a cloud of dark scribbles is covering the entire last paragraph. Bellamy’s face twists up in confusion and amusement. “What’s all this?”

He glances up after an answer never comes, and sees that all the color has drained from the boy’s face. Bellamy’s smile fades slowly. “Murphy?”

The brunet shoves his hand away roughly, ripping out of his grasp and pulling himself to a stance before storming out of the tent. The older man stares after him in shock, taking another look at the offending book with a distorted face, before it dawns on him. The pictures, the question marks, his inexplicable ability to read at a supersonic speed...

Murphy can’t read.

He plants his hands on the ground and pushes up, rising to his feet and stalking gently outside. “Murphy?”

Bellamy finds the boy sitting at the back of the tent for lack of better place to hide, likely, head between his knees and arms crossed over his legs. “Fuck off,” he mutters, muffled by his own pants. The man sighs, dropping to sit next to him anyway. Murphy growls, reaching out to shove his visitor roughly, who doesn’t budge.

“I said fuck-”

“Shut up.”

Murphy picks his head up slowly, meeting his gaze with shyer eyes than before. “It’s _okay,_ ” he insists, and Murphy shoves his head back between his knees almost violently, burrowing away.

“I don’t know shit about taking care of things. I shouldn’t be a part of this,” he mutters, voice cracking pathetically. Bellamy averts his eyes, picking blades of grass from between his feet absently.

“Yes you should,” he says, before he can really think about it, and Murphy laughs darkly into the crook of his arm. “No, look at me,” Bellamy demands, voice low and sincere as he slips a hand under Murphy’s chin and tilts it toward him. Murphy’s throat goes a dark shade of pink and it travels to his cheeks, and the other man tries his very best to glance over it. “We don’t need the stupid fucking books, understand?”

Murphy clenches his jaw, face glistening in moonlight, hair standing on end.

“You- Bellamy’s eyes flicker to a strand of chestnut pointing towards the sky, and he reaches out on instinct to smooth it down. Murphy visibly relaxes under his touch, leaving a strange feeling knocking around in the larger man’s gut like a pinball. “-Are a natural.”

Murphy laughs, softer this time, and that horrible sensation in the other man’s stomach is going absolutely haywire at this point. He draws his hand away, immediately missing the sensation of Murphy’s hair under his fingers. Something settles in the boy’s face.

“Okay.”

Bellamy watches him for a moment, searching him for doubt, or hesitation. He finds plenty, and that’s how he knows it’s genuine.

“Come on, it’s cold out here,” he concludes, rising and holding out a hand for an absolutely crumpled-looking Murphy to take, memories of pulling his beaten body up off of the elevator floor flashing through his head. And when that boy’s pale hand wraps around his, latching on like a missing piece, and that oh-so familiar bolt of electricity slices through his nerves like a whip-- he know he’s stuck with him for good, in one way or another.

And it feels... natural.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said this fic would be funny? lie
> 
> im sorry this chapter took so long and sucks. all of the love thank u endlessly for reading/kudos/and comments <3 ur great


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